The Nature of Human Stupidity Explained by The 48 Laws of Power Author Robert Greene

It’s prac­ti­cal­ly guar­an­teed that we now have more stu­pid peo­ple on the plan­et than ever before. Of course, we might be tempt­ed to think; just look at how many of them dis­agree with my pol­i­tics. But this unprece­dent­ed stu­pid­i­ty is pri­mar­i­ly, if not entire­ly, a func­tion of an unprece­dent­ed­ly large glob­al pop­u­la­tion. The more impor­tant mat­ter has less to do with quan­ti­ty of stu­pid­i­ty than with its qual­i­ty: of all the forms it can take, which does the most dam­age? Robert Greene, author of The 48 Laws of Pow­er and The Laws of Human Nature, address­es that ques­tion in the clip above from an inter­view with pod­cast­er Chris Williamson.

“What makes peo­ple stu­pid,” Greene explains, “is their cer­tain­ty that they have all the answers.” The basic idea may sound famil­iar, since we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture the relat­ed phe­nom­e­non of the Dun­ning-Kruger effect. In some sense, stu­pid peo­ple who know they’re stu­pid aren’t actu­al­ly stu­pid, or at least not harm­ful­ly so.

True to form, Greene makes a clas­si­cal ref­er­ence: Athens’ lead­ers went into the Pelo­pon­nesian War cer­tain of vic­to­ry, when it actu­al­ly brought about the end of the Athen­ian gold­en age. “Peo­ple who are cer­tain of things are very stu­pid,” he says, “and when they have pow­er, they’re very, very dan­ger­ous,” per­haps more so than those we would call evil.

This brings to mind the oft-quot­ed prin­ci­ple known as Han­lon’s Razor: “Nev­er attribute to mal­ice that which is ade­quate­ly explained by stu­pid­i­ty.” But even in oth­er­wise intel­li­gent indi­vid­u­als, a ten­den­cy toward pre­ma­ture cer­tain­ty can induce that stu­pid­i­ty. Bet­ter, in Greene’s view, to cul­ti­vate what John Keats, inspired by Shake­speare, called “neg­a­tive capa­bil­i­ty”: the pow­er to “hold two thoughts in your head at the same time, two thoughts that appar­ent­ly con­tra­dict each oth­er.” We might con­sid­er, for instance, enter­tain­ing the ideas of our afore­men­tioned polit­i­cal ene­mies — not ful­ly accept­ing them, mind you, but also not ful­ly accept­ing our own. It may, at least, pre­vent the onset of stu­pid­i­ty, a con­di­tion that’s clear­ly dif­fi­cult to cure.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Why Incom­pe­tent Peo­ple Think They’re Com­pe­tent: The Dun­ning-Kruger Effect, Explained

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Jean-Luc Godard Shoots Marianne Faithfull (RIP) Singing “As Tears Go By” in 1966

Note: Yes­ter­day, Mar­i­anne Faith­full passed away at age 78. In her mem­o­ry, we’re bring­ing back a favorite from deep in our archive. It orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site in June 2012.

When you want to learn a thing or two about Jean-Luc Godard, you turn to New York­er film crit­ic Richard Brody. I do, any­way, since the man wrote the book on Godard: name­ly, Every­thing is Cin­e­ma: The Work­ing Life of Jean-Luc Godard. He fol­lowed up our post on Godard­’s film of Jef­fer­son Air­plane’s 1968 rooftop con­cert with a tweet link­ing us to a clip from Godard­’s fea­ture Made in U.S.A

That film came out in 1966, two years before the immor­tal Air­plane show but well into Godard­’s first major burst of dar­ing cre­ativ­i­ty, which began with 1959’s Breath­less and last­ed at least until Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il, his 1968 doc­u­men­tary on — or, any­way, includ­ing — the Rolling Stones. Brody point­ed specif­i­cal­ly to the clip above, a brief scene where Mar­i­anne Faith­full sings “As Tears Go By,” a hit, in sep­a­rate record­ings, for both Faith­full and the Stones.

Brody notes how these two min­utes of a cap­pel­la per­for­mance from the 19-year-old Faith­full depict the “styles of the day.” For a long time since that day, alas, we Amer­i­can film­go­ers had­n’t had a chance to ful­ly expe­ri­ence Made in U.S.A. Godard based its script on Don­ald E. West­lake’s nov­el The Jug­ger but nev­er both­ered to secure adap­ta­tion rights, and the film drift­ed in legal lim­bo until 2009. But today, with that red tape cut, crisp new prints cir­cu­late freely around the Unit­ed States. Keep an eye on your local revival house­’s list­ings so you won’t miss your chance to wit­ness Faith­ful­l’s café per­for­mance, and oth­er such Godar­d­ian moments, in their the­atri­cal glo­ry. The cinephili­cal­ly intre­pid Brody, of course, found a way to see it, after a fash­ion, near­ly thir­ty years before its legit­i­mate Amer­i­can release: “The Mudd Club (the White Street night spot and music venue) got hold of a 16-mm. print and showed it — with the pro­jec­tor in the room — to a crowd of heavy smok­ers. It was like watch­ing a movie out­doors in Lon­don by night, or as if through the shroud­ing mists of time.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Mar­i­anne Faithfull’s Three Ver­sions of “As Tears Go By,” Each Record­ed at a Dif­fer­ent Stage of Life (1965, 1987 & 2018)

Watch David Bowie & Mar­i­anne Faith­full Rehearse and Sing Son­ny & Cher’s “I Got You Babe” (1973)

Watch the Rolling Stones Write “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il”: Scenes from Jean-Luc Godard’s ’68 Film One Plus One

Watch Derek Jarman’s Dar­ing 12-Minute Pro­mo Film for Mar­i­anne Faithfull’s 1979 Come­back Album Bro­ken Eng­lish (NSFW)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Google Unveils a Digital Marketing & E‑Commerce Certificate: 7 Courses Will Help Prepare Students for an Entry-Level Job in 6 Months

Sev­er­al years ago, Google launched a series of Career Cer­tifi­cates that will “pre­pare learn­ers for an entry-lev­el role in under six months.” Their first cer­tifi­cates focused on Project Man­age­ment, Data Ana­lyt­ics, User Expe­ri­ence (UX) Design, IT Sup­port and IT Automa­tion. And they have since released a cer­tifi­cate ded­i­cat­ed to Dig­i­tal Mar­ket­ing & E‑Commerce, which incor­po­rates train­ing on lever­ag­ing AI to enhance mar­ket­ing strate­gies and e‑commerce oper­a­tions.

Offered on the Cours­era plat­form, the Dig­i­tal Mar­ket­ing & E‑Commerce Pro­fes­sion­al Cer­tifi­cate con­sists of sev­en cours­es, all col­lec­tive­ly designed to help stu­dents “devel­op dig­i­tal mar­ket­ing and e‑commerce strate­gies; attract and engage cus­tomers through dig­i­tal mar­ket­ing chan­nels like search and email; mea­sure mar­ket­ing ana­lyt­ics and share insights; build e‑commerce stores, ana­lyze e‑commerce per­for­mance, and build cus­tomer loy­al­ty.” The cours­es include:

In total, this pro­gram “includes over 190 hours of instruc­tion and prac­tice-based assess­ments, which sim­u­late real-world dig­i­tal mar­ket­ing and e‑commerce sce­nar­ios that are crit­i­cal for suc­cess in the work­place.” Along the way, stu­dents will learn how to use tools and plat­forms like Can­va, Con­stant Con­tact, Google Ads, Google Ana­lyt­ics, Hoot­suite, Hub­Spot, Mailchimp, Shopi­fy, and Twit­ter. The cours­es also focus on some time­ly AI topics–like how to kick­start mar­ket­ing strat­e­gy ideas with AI, or use AI to help you under­stand your audi­ence.

You can start a 7‑day free tri­al and explore the cours­es. If you con­tin­ue beyond that, Google/Coursera will charge $49 USD per month. That trans­lates to about $300 after 6 months.

Explore the Dig­i­tal Mar­ket­ing & E‑Commerce Pro­fes­sion­al Cer­tifi­cate.

Note: Open Cul­ture has a part­ner­ship with Cours­era. If read­ers enroll in cer­tain Cours­era cours­es and pro­grams, it helps sup­port Open Cul­ture.

Explore a Digitized Edition of the Voynich Manuscript, “the World’s Most Mysterious Book”

A 600-year-old manuscript—written in a script no one has ever decod­ed, filled with cryp­tic illus­tra­tions, its ori­gins remain­ing to this day a mys­tery…. It’s not as sat­is­fy­ing a plot, say, of a Nation­al Trea­sure or Dan Brown thriller, cer­tain­ly not as action-packed as pick-your-Indi­ana Jones…. The Voyn­ich Man­u­script, named for the anti­quar­i­an who redis­cov­ered it in 1912, has a much more her­met­ic nature, some­what like the work of Hen­ry Darg­er; it presents us with an inscrutably alien world, pieced togeth­er from hybridized motifs drawn from its con­tem­po­rary sur­round­ings.

The Voyn­ich Man­u­script is unique for hav­ing made up its own alpha­bet while also seem­ing to be in con­ver­sa­tion with oth­er famil­iar works of the peri­od, such that it resem­bles an uncan­ny dop­pel­ganger of many a medieval text.

A com­par­a­tive­ly long book at 234 pages, it rough­ly divides into sev­en sec­tions, any of which might be found on the shelves of your aver­age 1400s Euro­pean reader—a fair­ly small and rar­efied group. “Over time, Voyn­ich enthu­si­asts have giv­en each sec­tion a con­ven­tion­al name” for its dom­i­nant imagery: “botan­i­cal, astro­nom­i­cal, cos­mo­log­i­cal, zodi­ac, bio­log­i­cal, phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal, and recipes.”

Schol­ars can only spec­u­late about these cat­e­gories. The man­u­scrip­t’s ori­gins and intent have baf­fled cryp­tol­o­gists since at least the 17th cen­tu­ry, when, notes Vox, “an alchemist described it as ‘a cer­tain rid­dle of the Sphinx.’” We can pre­sume, “judg­ing by its illus­tra­tions,” writes Reed John­son at The New York­er, that Voyn­ich is “a com­pendi­um of knowl­edge relat­ed to the nat­ur­al world.” But its “illus­tra­tions range from the fan­ci­ful (legions of heavy-head­ed flow­ers that bear no rela­tion to any earth­ly vari­ety) to the bizarre (naked and pos­si­bly preg­nant women, frol­ick­ing in what look like amuse­ment-park water­slides from the fif­teenth cen­tu­ry).”

The manuscript’s “botan­i­cal draw­ings are no less strange: the plants appear to be chimeri­cal, com­bin­ing incom­pat­i­ble parts from dif­fer­ent species, even dif­fer­ent king­doms.” These draw­ings led schol­ar Nicholas Gibbs to com­pare it to the Tro­tu­la, a Medieval com­pi­la­tion that “spe­cial­izes in the dis­eases and com­plaints of women,” as he wrote in a Times Lit­er­ary Sup­ple­ment arti­cle. It turns out, accord­ing to sev­er­al Medieval man­u­script experts who have stud­ied the Voyn­ich, that Gibbs’ pro­posed decod­ing may not actu­al­ly solve the puz­zle.

The degree of doubt should be enough to keep us in sus­pense, and there­in lies the Voyn­ich Man­u­script’s endur­ing appeal—it is a black box, about which we might always ask, as Sarah Zhang does, “What could be so scan­dalous, so dan­ger­ous, or so impor­tant to be writ­ten in such an uncrack­able cipher?” Wil­fred Voyn­ich him­self asked the same ques­tion in 1912, believ­ing the man­u­script to be “a work of excep­tion­al impor­tance… the text must be unrav­eled and the his­to­ry of the man­u­script must be traced.” Though “not an espe­cial­ly glam­orous phys­i­cal object,” Zhang observes, it has nonethe­less tak­en on the aura of a pow­er­ful occult charm.

But maybe it’s com­plete gib­ber­ish, a high-con­cept prac­ti­cal joke con­coct­ed by 15th cen­tu­ry scribes to troll us in the future, know­ing we’d fill in the space of not-know­ing with the most fan­tas­ti­cal­ly strange spec­u­la­tions. This is a propo­si­tion Stephen Bax, anoth­er con­tender for a Voyn­ich solu­tion, finds hard­ly cred­i­ble. “Why on earth would any­one waste their time cre­at­ing a hoax of this kind?,” he asks. Maybe it’s a rel­ic from an insu­lar com­mu­ni­ty of magi­cians who left no oth­er trace of them­selves. Sure­ly in the last 300 years every pos­si­ble the­o­ry has been sug­gest­ed, dis­card­ed, then picked up again.

Should you care to take a crack at sleuthing out the Voyn­ich mystery—or just to browse through it for curiosity’s sake—you can find the man­u­script scanned at Yale’s Bei­necke Rare Book & Man­u­script Library, which hous­es the vel­lum orig­i­nal. Or flip through the Inter­net Archive’s dig­i­tal ver­sion above. Anoth­er pri­vate­ly-run site con­tains a his­to­ry and descrip­tion of the man­u­script and anno­ta­tions on the illus­tra­tions and the script, along with sev­er­al pos­si­ble tran­scrip­tions of its sym­bols pro­posed by schol­ars. Good luck!

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to “the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book,” the 15th-Cen­tu­ry Voyn­ich Man­u­script

1,000-Year-Old Illus­trat­ed Guide to the Med­i­c­i­nal Use of Plants Now Dig­i­tized & Put Online

The Writ­ing Sys­tem of the Cryp­tic Voyn­ich Man­u­script Explained: British Researcher May Have Final­ly Cracked the Code

An Intro­duc­tion to the Codex Seraphini­anus, the Strangest Book Ever Pub­lished

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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How Robert Frost Wrote One of His Most Famous Poems, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”

Sev­er­al gen­er­a­tions of Amer­i­can stu­dents have now had the expe­ri­ence of being told by an Eng­lish teacher that they’d been read­ing Robert Frost all wrong, even if they’d nev­er read him at all. Most, at least, had seen his lines “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— / I took the one less trav­eled by, / And that has made all the dif­fer­ence” — or in any case, they’d heard them quot­ed with intent to inspire. “ ‘The Road Not Tak­en’ has noth­ing to do with inspi­ra­tion and stick-to-it-ive­ness,” writes The Hedge­hog Review’s Ed Simon in a reflec­tion on Frost’s 150th birth­day. Rather, “it’s a melan­cholic exha­la­tion at the futil­i­ty of choice, a dirge about endur­ing in the face of mean­ing­less­ness.”

Sim­i­lar­ly mis­in­ter­pret­ed is Frost’s sec­ond-known poem, “Stop­ping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” whose wag­on-dri­ving nar­ra­tor declares that “the woods are love­ly, dark and deep, / But I have promis­es to keep / And miles to go before I sleep, / And miles to go before I sleep.” You can hear the whole thing read aloud by Frost him­self in the new video above from Evan Puschak, bet­ter known as the Nerd­writer.  “What draws me in is the crys­talline clar­i­ty of the imagery,” says Puschak. “You instant­ly pic­ture this qui­et, win­try evening scene that Frost con­jures,” one that feels as if it belongs in “a lim­i­nal space” where “time and nature are not divid­ed and struc­tured in human ways.”

Frost evokes this feel­ing “pre­cise­ly by struc­tur­ing time and space in a human way” — that is, using the struc­tures of poet­ry. Puschak breaks down the rel­e­vant tech­niques like its rhythm, meter, and rhyme scheme (rhyming being a qual­i­ty of his work that once got him labeled, as Simon puts it, “a jin­gle man out of step with the prosod­ic con­ven­tions of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry”). But “the seem­ing sim­plic­i­ty of the imagery, phras­ing, and struc­ture of this poem con­ceal a lot of sub­tle­ty,” and the more you look at it, “the more you see the real world intrud­ing on the nar­ra­tor’s med­i­ta­tive moment.”

“It’s hard not to read ‘Stop­ping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ as con­cern­ing self-anni­hi­la­tion (albeit self-anni­hi­la­tion avoid­ed),” writes Simon. After all, why place that “But” after “the obser­va­tion of the dark, love­ly final­i­ty of the woods, of that frozen lake so amenable to drown­ing one­self, if only then to reaf­firm that here are promis­es to keep, miles to go before he sleeps, respon­si­bil­i­ties and duties that must be ful­filled before death can be enter­tained?” This is hard­ly the kind of sub­ject you’d expect from “the Nor­man Rock­well of verse,” as Frost’s sheer acces­si­bil­i­ty led many to per­ceive him. But as with poet­ry of any cul­ture or era, suf­fi­cient­ly close read­ing is what real­ly makes all the dif­fer­ence.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Hear Robert Frost Read His Most Famous Poems: “The Road Not Tak­en,” “Mend­ing Wall,” “Noth­ing Gold Can Stay” & More

Lis­ten to Robert Frost Read ‘The Gift Out­right,’ the Poem He Recit­ed from Mem­o­ry at JFK’s Inau­gu­ra­tion

How Emi­ly Dick­in­son Writes A Poem: A Short Video Intro­duc­tion

How John Keats Writes a Poem: A Line-by-Line Break­down of “Ode on a Gre­cian Urn”

How E. E. Cum­mings Writes a Poem

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Mahatma Gandhi’s List of the Seven Social Sins; or Tips on How to Avoid Living the Bad Life

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In 590 AD, Pope Gre­go­ry I unveiled a list of the Sev­en Dead­ly Sins – lust, glut­tony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride – as a way to keep the flock from stray­ing into the thorny fields of ungod­li­ness. These days, though, for all but the most devout, Pope Gregory’s list seems less like a means to moral behav­ior than a descrip­tion of cable TV pro­gram­ming.

So instead, let’s look to one of the saints of the 20th cen­tu­ry–Mahat­ma Gand­hi. On Octo­ber 22, 1925, Gand­hi pub­lished a list he called the Sev­en Social Sins in his week­ly news­pa­per Young India.

  • Pol­i­tics with­out prin­ci­ples.
  • Wealth with­out work.
  • Plea­sure with­out con­science.
  • Knowl­edge with­out char­ac­ter.
  • Com­merce with­out moral­i­ty.
  • Sci­ence with­out human­i­ty.
  • Wor­ship with­out sac­ri­fice.

The list sprang from a cor­re­spon­dence that Gand­hi had with some­one only iden­ti­fied as a “fair friend.” He pub­lished the list with­out com­men­tary save for the fol­low­ing line: “Nat­u­ral­ly, the friend does not want the read­ers to know these things mere­ly through the intel­lect but to know them through the heart so as to avoid them.”

Unlike the Catholic Church’s list, Gandhi’s list is express­ly focused on the con­duct of the indi­vid­ual in soci­ety. Gand­hi preached non-vio­lence and inter­de­pen­dence and every sin­gle one of these sins are exam­ples of self­ish­ness win­ning out over the com­mon good.

It’s also a list that, if ful­ly absorbed, will make the folks over at the US Cham­ber of Com­merce and Ayn Rand Insti­tute itch. After all, “Wealth with­out work,” is a pret­ty accu­rate descrip­tion of America’s 1%. (Invest­ments ain’t work. Ask Thomas Piket­ty.) “Com­merce with­out moral­i­ty” sounds a lot like every sin­gle oil com­pa­ny out there and “knowl­edge with­out char­ac­ter” describes half the hacks on cable news. “Pol­i­tics with­out prin­ci­ples” describes the oth­er half.

In 1947, Gand­hi gave his fifth grand­son, Arun Gand­hi, a slip of paper with this same list on it, say­ing that it con­tained “the sev­en blun­ders that human soci­ety com­mits, and that cause all the vio­lence.” The next day, Arun returned to his home in South Africa. Three months lat­er, Gand­hi was shot to death by a Hin­du extrem­ist.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Tol­stoy and Gand­hi Exchange Let­ters: Two Thinkers’ Quest for Gen­tle­ness, Humil­i­ty & Love (1909)

Albert Ein­stein Express­es His Admi­ra­tion for Mahat­ma Gand­hi, in Let­ter and Audio

Isaac New­ton Cre­ates a List of His 57 Sins (Cir­ca 1662)

Mahat­ma Gand­hi Talks (in First Record­ed Video)

When Mahat­ma Gand­hi Met Char­lie Chap­lin (1931)

Hear Gandhi’s Famous Speech on the Exis­tence of God (1931)

Jonathan Crow is a writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions,

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How Frank Lloyd Wright Became Frank Lloyd Wright: A Video Introduction

Frank Lloyd Wright is unlike­ly to be dis­placed as the arche­type of the genius archi­tect any­time soon, at least in Amer­i­ca, but even he had to start some­where. At nine years old, as archi­tec­ture YouTu­ber Stew­art Hicks explains in the video above, Wright received a set of blocks from his moth­er, who hoped that “her son would grow up to become a great archi­tect, and she thought the cre­ativ­i­ty unlocked and prac­ticed with these blocks could kick-start his jour­ney.” Evi­dent­ly, she was­n’t wrong: “by the time Wright attempt­ed to design his first build­ing years lat­er, he spent count­less hours arrang­ing the blocks,” famil­iar as he was with “pro­por­tion, sym­me­try, bal­ance, and oth­er prin­ci­ples of design well before he ever picked up a pen­cil.”

Of course, most of us played with blocks in child­hood, and few of us now bear much com­par­i­son to the man who designed Falling­wa­ter and the Guggen­heim. But his moth­er’s toy selec­tion was just one of many fac­tors that influ­enced the archi­tec­tur­al devel­op­ment that con­tin­ued through­out Wright’s long life.

In fif­teen min­utes, Hicks explains as many of them as pos­si­ble: his ear­ly oppor­tu­ni­ty to work on “shin­gle-style” homes, whose cru­ci­form lay­out he would adapt into his own designs; his arrival in a Chica­go that was still rebuild­ing after its great fire of 1871, when there were vast sky­scraper inte­ri­ors to be cre­at­ed; the new Mid­west­ern man­u­fac­tur­ing mon­ey pre­pared to com­mis­sion homes from him; and his inspir­ing encoun­ters with Japan­ese aes­thet­ics, both at home and in Japan itself.

After return­ing from a 1905 Japan trip, Wright got to work on Uni­ty Tem­ple in Oak Park, Illi­nois. He had it built with the rel­a­tive­ly new mate­r­i­al of rein­forced con­crete, thus get­ting “in on the ground floor of a tech­nol­o­gy that could com­plete­ly trans­form what build­ings could do,” mak­ing pos­si­ble “soar­ing can­tilevers, grace­ful curves,” and oth­er ele­ments that would become part of his archi­tec­tur­al sig­na­ture. A few decades lat­er, the Unit­ed States’ sub­urb-build­ing boom made Wright’s rur­al-urban “Uson­ian” homes and “Broad­acre City” plan look pre­scient; indeed, “almost every sin­gle house inside of a post­war sub­urb bears his trace.” His will­ing­ness to appear in print and on film, radio, and tele­vi­sion kept him in the Amer­i­can pub­lic con­scious­ness, and he made sure to instill his prin­ci­ples into gen­er­a­tions of stu­dents. Frank Lloyd Wright may be long gone, but he made sure that his vision of Amer­i­ca would live on.

Relat­ed con­tent:

A Beau­ti­ful Visu­al Tour of Tir­ran­na, One of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Remark­able, Final Cre­ations

What Frank Lloyd Wright’s Unusu­al Win­dows Tell Us About His Archi­tec­tur­al Genius

A Vir­tu­al Tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Lost Japan­ese Mas­ter­piece, the Impe­r­i­al Hotel in Tokyo

What It’s Like to Work in Frank Lloyd Wright’s Icon­ic Office Build­ing

Frank Lloyd Wright Reflects on Cre­ativ­i­ty, Nature and Reli­gion in Rare 1957 Audio

Frank Lloyd Wright Cre­ates a List of the 10 Traits Every Aspir­ing Artist Needs

How Frank Lloyd Wright’s Son Invent­ed Lin­coln Logs, “America’s Nation­al Toy” (1916)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

When Neapolitans Used to Eat Pasta with Their Bare Hands: Watch Footage from 1903

Even if you don’t speak Ital­ian, you can make a decent guess at the mean­ing of the word man­gia­mac­cheroni. The tricky bit is that mac­cheroni refers not to the pas­ta Eng­lish-speak­ers today call mac­a­roni, tubu­lar and cut into small curved sec­tions, but to pas­ta in gen­er­al. Or at least it did around the turn of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, when i man­gia­mac­cheroni still had cur­ren­cy as a nick­name for the inhab­i­tants of the pas­ta-pro­duc­tion cen­ter that was Naples. That iden­ti­ty had already been long estab­lished even then: Atlas Obscu­ra’s Adee Braun quotes Goethe’s obser­va­tion, on a trip there in 1787, that pas­ta “can be bought every­where and in all the shops for very lit­tle mon­ey.”

Some espe­cial­ly hard-up Neapoli­tans could even eat it for free, or indeed get paid to eat it, pro­vid­ed they were pre­pared to do so at great speed, in full pub­lic view — and, as was the cus­tom at the time, with their bare hands. “Many tourists took it upon them­selves to orga­nize such spec­ta­cles,” Braun writes. “Sim­ply toss­ing a coin or two to the laz­za­roni, the street beg­gars, would elic­it a mad dash to con­sume the mac­a­roni in their char­ac­ter­is­tic way, much to the amuse­ment of their onlook­ing bene­fac­tors.” As you can see in the Edi­son film above, shot on the streets of Naples in 1903, their mac­cheroni came in long strands, more like what we know as spaghet­ti. (For­tu­nate­ly, if that’s the word, toma­to sauce had yet to catch on.)

“On my first vis­it there, in 1929, I acquired a dis­taste for mac­a­roni, at least in Naples, for its insalu­bri­ous court­yards were jun­gles of it,” writes Waver­ley Root in The Food of Italy. “Limp strands hung over clothes­lines to dry, dirt swirled through the air, flies set­tled to rest on the exposed pas­ta, pigeons bombed it from over­head,” and so on. By that time, what had been an aris­to­crat­ic dish cen­turies ear­li­er had long since become a sta­ple even for the poor, owing to the pro­to-indus­tri­al­iza­tion of its pro­duc­tion (which Mus­soli­ni would relo­cate and great­ly increase in scale). Nowa­days, it goes with­out say­ing that Italy’s pas­ta is of the high­est qual­i­ty. And though Ital­ians may not have invent­ed the stuff, which was orig­i­nal­ly brought over from the Mid­dle East, per­haps they did invent the muk­bang.

Relat­ed con­tent:

When Ital­ian Futur­ists Declared War on Pas­ta (1930)

A Free Course from MIT Teach­es You How to Speak Ital­ian & Cook Ital­ian Food All at Once

Julia Child Shows Fred Rogers How to Make a Quick & Deli­cious Pas­ta Dish (1974)

Quar­an­tine Cook­ing: 13 Pro­fes­sion­al Chefs Cook Pas­ta at Home with the Most Basic Ingre­di­ents Avail­able

Pas­ta for War: The Award-Win­ning Ani­ma­tion That Sat­i­rizes 1930s Pro­pa­gan­da Films & Fea­tures March­ing Riga­toni

His­tor­i­cal Ital­ian Cook­ing: How to Make Ancient Roman & Medieval Ital­ian Dish­es

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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